Unexpected Inheritance
by Kalia
Summary: During the midst of all the chaos, a rival of Kenneth Irons comes to New York after the Witchblade. Ian is sent to protect Sara, but will that be enough against this new enemy's devious plans?


Unexpected Inheritance

by Kalia

  


Acknowledgments: I'd like to blame this entire piece on Legion, who's brainstorming session caused this plot idea to mutate and bite me in the ankle. I'd like to thank Obelix and Legion for reading through this as I wrote it, encouraging me to continue on and thumping me over the head when the characterizations seemed off. Last, but not least I'd like to thank Lanning for edited the piece quickly while I sat nearby whining I wanna post it now. Any errors left are clearly not her fault, though I think I'll deny that they are mine as well, its a conspiracy by the gremlins on the Internet. 

  


Rating: PG-13 (for violence)

  


Category: Gen, Alternate Universe, Angst

  


Warning: Character Death. Spoliers for the Movie and the every episode in Season 1 of Witchblade. 

  


Notes: Alternate Universe. Episode 11 -Transcendence has not occurred. This piece actually replaces it.

  


Summary: During the midst of all the chaos, a rival of Kenneth Irons comes to New York after the Witchblade. Ian is sent to protect Sara, but will that be enough against this new enemy's devious plans?

  


Ian Nottingham, having been summoned, stood opposite Kenneth Irons in the billionaire's penthouse office. Ian observed Irons secretly, though his head was bowed in his typical submissive posture, as he awaited his orders. There were crows feet around the man's eyes and his silver hair wasn't as lush as it had been days before. Ian didn't believe in God--he knew unequivocally who created him--but he wished he did, so he could pray that the orders he dreaded wouldn't be spoken. 

"Go to her, Ian," stated Irons, as he sat at his desk in one of his expensive gray suits. "The latest Magincourt is after the Witchblade. He has no idea of its true power. He could ruin everything."

Ian bowed, then turned and walked out of the office, his ankle-length black coat swirling around him as he left. Irons wasn't the only one after the Witchblade. There were many out in the world that knew of its existence and hungered to control it, including the Vatican. A major portion of Ian's education had been studying the others and what each of them knew. The Magincourt family had the dubious honor of being the greatest threat to Irons' aspirations of controlling the Witchblade by controlling the true wielder. They had been after the powerful artifact ever since Cathain had wielded it around 70 A.D.

In all those years of searching they had never learned its true powers. The lack of knowledge only made them more dangerous. To obtain the Witchblade, they would not hesitate to kill Sara Pezzini, the true wielder. Her death would sentence Irons to join her, if there were no way to preserve her body quickly, as had been done with the last true wielder, Elizabeth Bronte. Ian quickened his step as he searched for the Lady Sara. He didn't want either of them to die.

He found her in little less than an hour, in an abandoned warehouse located in Long Island City, Queens. She was with her 'partner' Jake McCartey, a man whom Ian would rather see decorating the inside of a pine box for his betrayal of Sara by joining an organization known as the White Bulls. It was only by Sara's command that McCartey still lived, even though she knew he was a member of the very group that was trying to kill her. There was one other with them, a friend of Sara's, Gabriel. As Ian studied the layout of the warehouse, noting the exits and the more defensible points, he eavesdropped on their conversation. 

"Good work getting me Haviland's killer, Pez. Dante seems to trust me a bit more," said Jake.

"That's nice, but we haven't found any more solid evidence proving what the White Bulls are really up to," replied Sara.

"We will. It's just going to take more time," said Jake. Ian pondered the implications of the conversation. Could he have misjudged the unworthy creation, who seemed to want more from Sara then simple friendship?

"Ummm, guys," interrupted Gabriel, pointing towards Ian as he walked silently into view. 

Jake drew his gun and aimed it at him. The man never learned. Gabriel shuffled back, trying to get off the floor and onto his feet, while precariously holding on to the laptop that had rested in his lap. Sara just turned around and glared at him.

"What do you want, Nottingham...more blood?" asked Sara, clenching her injured left hand in a fist.

"Another dragon lurks nearby, milady fair. You must be spirited away, where you won't be found, so that it may not add another treasure to its collection," Ian whispered to her.

"What are you talking about, Nottingham? Speak English!" said Sara.

"You are in danger here. You must come with me," stated Ian calmly.

"This coming from the man who sliced my hand for no reason."

"There was...is a reason. Your partner is right for the wrong reasons. You must hide; there are people after... you," he said with eyes now gazing upon the Witchblade, hoping Sara understood the implication.

"Yes, the White Bulls. That's old news."

"They are but a minor annoyance. You must come with me." 

"No. I don't trust you," Sara said to him. "Come on, Gabriel, let's go somewhere less crowded. I'll be in touch, Jake." Sara led the way out of the building, with Gabriel following behind. 

With one last glare at Jake, Ian disappeared into the shadows and began following Sara. Like it or not, he would stay with her and protect her. It was one of the reasons for his existence. Even if it hadn't been, he would do it anyway. She was family.

  


***

  


The black limousine would easily remain unseen in the dark of night. Its occupants waited inside. A dark-haired man in his late thirties, dressed in a custom-made suit, sat patiently, while his blond-haired female companion fidgeted.

"Matthew, why don't we just go now?" she asked, in a British accent.

"Patience, my dear Claire, patience," he replied, in a polished Oxford tone. "We must wait until Mr. Nottingham is suitably distracted. There can be no interruptions in my plan. As talented a warrior as you are, you are no match for Nottingham, not yet." Reviewing the plan once more, Matthew smiled to himself. Nothing would stand in his way, not this time.

Claire was perfect, exactly what he needed. Her bloodline was full of warriors as far back as he could trace. She would wield it, and she was completely devoted to him. Claire could be nothing else, since he rescued her from the streets of London as a child and had trained her to be exactly what he wanted. His musings were interrupted by the shrill ringing of the car phone. "Yes?"

"We found it. The woman is wearing it, just like you said. Nottingham is here as well, and someone else."

"Never mind that. Just keep Nottingham busy for as long as possible," ordered Matthew. Hanging up the phone, he activated the intercom and told the driver to go. The car started up quickly, drove around the corner and stopped. The driver opened the back door and Matthew stepped out, then held his arm out to assist Claire. She blended into the dark in her gray cat suit, her left hand clasping the hilt of a sword. They walked hand in hand to the front gate. As Claire skillfully disarmed the security system Matthew whispered, "Now it's time." He looked at the Irons estate.

Kenneth Irons had possessed the Witchblade for about fifty years and protected it fiercely. Matthew's father had never been able to wrench the weapon from Irons's control, and all of Matthew's previous attempts had met with failure as well. This time would be different. Irons had a new lover who wielded the Witchblade. First, Irons would be dealt with permanently--then Matthew would deal with the wielder.

Irons was eating his supper as Matthew stepped into the library, drawing his pistol. Aiming at Irons, he spoke with false sincerity. "Mr. Irons, how nice it is to finally meet you." A look of surprise flittered across Irons' face before it was replaced by a mask of indifference. "No need to get up, old man. We'll just make ourselves comfortable."

"To what do I owe this pleasure, Mr. Magincourt?" asked Irons.

Matthew and Claire stepped further into the room, approaching Irons cautiously. Claire carefully kept the sword hidden behind her back, out of Irons's view, Matthew noted proudly. "Just think of this as a meeting between two collectors."

"Most people wait for an invitation."

"Yes, well, I'm not most people, and neither are you. A piece of advice. I believe you should give up your delusion of controlling the Witchblade."

"Why should I do that?" asked Irons with a smile.

"Because I have with me its future wielder. If you surrender gracefully, we won't have to do something I may regret."

Irons laughed, looking genuinely amused at the comment. "You believe...her."

Claire reacted quickly, expertly placing the sword tip beneath Irons' chin without drawing blood, stopping his laughter.

"You should know better then to insult a lady, Mr. Irons," said Matthew as he checked his watch, noting how much time had passed since the call. "You may proceed my dear." Claire smiled at expertly stabbed the sword between two of Irons's ribs, cutting through his right lung. 

"You see, Mr. Irons," explained Matthew, putting away the gun and riffling through the papers on the desk with gloved hands. "You were very wrong about my intentions today. I can be a very patient man. I didn't come to New York to get the Witchblade today. I came here to kill you, and I find I am not regretting it one bit." Choosing some of the papers to take with him, Matthew continued. "As your business falls apart without your leadership, my companies will take them over. When I have your resources at my disposal, then I will take the Witchblade. Come, my dear, it is time for us to leave."

Irons sat back in his chair, coughing weakly, struggling for every breath. As Matthew and Claire reached the door they could barely hear his words. "You think you've won...think again."

  


***

Ian smiled happily amongst the carnage surrounding him. He and Sara fought beautifully together. Sara had survived unscathed, and so had her friend Gabriel, though Ian only helped protect him so that Sara wouldn't get hurt doing so. He'd told her once that they'd be good together. The bodies of Magincourt's men around them proved just how good.

"Thanks for the help, Nottingham," said Sara as she assisted Gabriel to his feet. The young man's eyes never left Sara's bracelet. He must have seen it change into its gauntlet form during the ambush.

"I should return. It would be best if you come with me, until we can be sure Magincourt is gone."

"Sure, Nottingham. For all I know your boss might have set up this entire thing," Sara began, her voice trailing off as her eyes focused upon something unseen. Minutes later her eyes focused upon him. "Gabriel, I'll meet up with you tomorrow, you know where. Let's go, Nottingham."

She must have seen another threat of some kind, surmised Ian. She must believe she needs me to help guard her back. "Are you sure you can trust him?" asked Gabriel, but he was speaking to her back as Sara ran towards the exit, weaving a path through the bodies. Ian followed, stepping on them if need be in his attempt to catch up to her.

The ride to the estate on the Seven train, and in the cab, passed in silence between them. Ian's training kept him silent. He would be told what he needed to know when necessary. As the cab pulled up outside the estate, he immediately knew something was wrong. The front gate was open. Throwing the door open, Ian ran out as Sara paid the fare. He found the security system had been disabled.

Not waiting for Sara to follow, he ran inside onto the grounds, searching for the intruder and his master. He found Irons slumped in his favorite throne-like chair in the library, drying blood staining an otherwise pristine white shirt, his body cold to the touch. Falling onto his knees, Ian wept.

He was still on the floor when Sara finally caught up to him. Now he knew what she had seen, but they were too late to prevent it. He had failed in his primary duty, failed to protect Irons. Lost amongst his own thoughts, he was shocked to feel Sara's hand gently touch his shoulder, offering support. "Nottingham...Ian," she said quietly, "we have to report this."

Looking up at her, Ian noted the sympathy in her eyes through his tear-covered lashes and nodded. He was quickly enveloped by the feeling of security as he heard the quiet order. He would do as she said. Then he would make sure she was protected, even from himself. Standing up, he used the sleeve of his coat to dry his face and walked over to a nearby phone. But the first call he made was not to the police.

  


***

  


The library was swarming with cops in less then an hour. Sara and he had both been questioned separately several times, first by the detectives handling the case, then by their captain. With his questioning over, Ian faded into the background and observed, ensuring that the police did not discover anything Irons wouldn't want them to find, like the secret room hidden behind false paneling and curtains.

An added benefit to his watchfulness were the conversations he overheard--Sara politely informing the detectives that she would be checking on their progress and that she might do some investigating on her own, for example. The usual protests that would accompany such a statement were not voiced. The detectives had already received a lecture on the necessity of closing the case quickly, reminding them that all their superiors eagerly awaited their reports.

Then there was the speculation he heard regarding himself, that he had been involved with the murder. The convenience of his alibi, evaluating Detective Pezzini for a possible job as head of security for Vorschlag Industries, was discussed. They would probably question him again in a day or two, once Irons' heir was revealed. It wasn't as if he had been belligerent or baiting them, just his normal polite self. That may have been the problem.

"Pezzini," growled out an obnoxious man as he entered the room. It was Sara's captain, who was also the active leader of the White Bulls, along with two of his hand-picked detectives. Bruno Dante was trouble, and Ian responded to the threat quickly. Moving with his unnatural speed, he placed himself between Sara and Captain Dante, fists clenched tightly inside the black leather gloves he wore. Dante continued, "We need to talk now, Detective."

If looks could kill, Dante would have been dying a horrible death, courtesy of Ian. An uncomfortable silence permeated the room. "You will leave here now," Ian ordered in a deadly tone.

Shifting on his feet nervously, Dante lowered his eyes from Ian's challenging gaze. "Fine," he agreed. "Pezzini, you're coming with me. That's an order."

Sara didn't have a chance to reply; she was cut off by Ian's quick response. "She's not going anywhere with you."

"If you're going to interfere with police business, Mr. Nottingham, I'll have you arrested--"

"I'm afraid Ms. Pezzini can not join you right now, Captain," interrupted a blond-haired stranger in an expensive suit. "She and I have business to discuss."

"And you are?" asked Dante angrily.

"Mr. Sylvester Drake," he replied, "of the Law Firm of Thomson, Drake and Brown. Mr. Irons was a client of mine, now so is Ms. Pezzini. I must speak to her right away. If you'll excuse us." A look of horror spread across Dante's face, and Ian smiled. The man must be wondering why such a prominent attorney was working for Sara. "Mr. Nottingham, if you could show us to a room where I could speak to Ms. Pezzini privately. One with a television and VCR, please."

Ian nodded and led them out of the library and into a small room nearby. It was sparsely decorated; the chair and desk were made out of stylized black metal. A modest-sized television and VCR rested upon a rolling cart in the opposite corner. Aside from an open book of poetry by T.S. Eliot lying on the desk, there were no signs that anyone really used the room. It was quite possibly the most secure room in the mansion; there were no windows and only one entrance, unless you knew of the hidden door to access the secret passages. It was Ian's study, the place where he felt the most comfortable.

Sara would be safe in there and no once could possibly overhear any conversation inside. Ian shut the door behind Sara and the lawyer, then guarded the door against anyone who approached.

  


***

  


"Ms. Pezzini, I'll be brief," began Drake. "Mr. Irons has left you everything he owns and left me instructions to have the assets transferred into your name as quickly as possible. I will have some paperwork ready for your signature in a couple of days and I can go over with you exactly what the estate is comprised of then." 

Sara was shocked. For the first time in her life, Sara Pezzini couldn't think of anything to say. It must have been evident on her face, because Drake didn't seem to expect a reply.

"We can schedule our appointment later." Drake took a tape out of his briefcase and loaded it into the VCR. "I will wait for you outside." 

The door clicked shut as the television flickered to life and Irons' familiar face appeared on the screen as the tape began to play. "Hello, Sara. If you are watching this, then I must be dead. I do hope for Mr. Drake's sake you weren't the cause or you've made his job more difficult."

Iron's paused running his fingers through his hair before continuing. "I assume by now that you have been informed that I have left everything to you. I don't want my company or anything I own falling into the hands any of the others after the Witchblade, since the company was built and the items obtained to help research it. So I leave them to you, the true blade wielder, to protect them--and Ian Nottingham to protect you. He comes part and parcel with the rest and you cannot fire him. He is completely loyal."

Irons paused again, taking a drink of water. "Ian has instructions to tell you what you need to know about the others. Do not let them get their hands on the Witchblade, Sara. One last thing of note. You can't exactly sell the company. You have control of it, but if you try to sell there is enough paperwork to tie up the process for years. Much longer then any potential buyer would be willing to wait, if they met the strict guidelines I've left."

The video faded to black as the recording ended. She found herself believing every word spoken on the tape. Irons was enough of a control freak to think up such a plan. He would not want anything of his going to one of his enemies, or used by anyone but himself or those he designated. This whole scheme was his way of controlling her from the grave, to accomplish in death what he could not in life. She was not going to let him win.

  


***

While Sara was occupied watching the tape, Ian took the opportunity to have a brief discussion with Drake. "There's a problem. Perhaps you can help."

"What is it, exactly?" asked Drake.

"Have you ever heard of the White Bulls?"

"Yes, I know some of the members in the upper echelon."

"The pack led by Dante has them hunting Lady Sara."

"I will talk to the ones I know, then. Explain to them that skeletons could fall out of assorted closets if this Dante is allowed to continue unchecked, or if anything happens to Ms. Pezzini."

"Thank you," said Ian. Drake's promise meant he wouldn't have to arrange any accidents in the near future, and was one less thing on his list.

It was hours later before the police left the grounds. They found few clues at the scene, and nothing they weren't supposed to. Sara looked exhausted, probably a result of the fight earlier in the evening, as well as the shock she'd just gotten in the study. Physically, Ian was fine--the nocturnal cycle he followed meant he wouldn't have to sleep until the afternoon. His emotional state was another story, however. He would deal with his emotions when he had time. His duty now was to Lady Sara. 

Approaching her slowly, gaze cast upon the floor, Ian spoke quietly. "Perhaps it would be best if you stayed here for what is left of the night."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Nott...Ian."

"Please," he asked, looking her directly in the eyes. "I...I don't want to stay here alone, not tonight, and you need someplace safe to stay." He didn't add that if she refused, he would spent the night watching her from nearby. 

Her expression softened. "All right, but don't even think of putting me in one of his bedrooms."

"There's a guest room he's never used. Would that suit you?"

"That sounds fine."

After leading her to the guest room, Ian waited outside until he was sure she was sleeping soundly. Then he called Dr. Immo and ordered the man to begin preparing his successor. All that was left now was to tell Sara all he knew, then to say goodbye. Once the call was over, Ian returned to the hallway outside the guest room. He lay on the floor and curled up in front of the door, the tears that he had been holding back since Sara had told him to call the police flowing freely once more.

  


***

By the early morning hours, Ian had drifted into a light sleep. He awoke suddenly, hearing Sara's footsteps inside the room, then quickly got up and moved down another corridor before she made it out of the room. A quick shower and a change of clothes made Ian feel armored once again, and he felt ready to deal with Sara. He found her in the kitchen, mutilating what appeared to be an attempt at breakfast. He shooed her away, determined not to experience the first case of illness in his life--food poisoning. Ian cooked breakfast for them both.

Checking the security systems he had reactivated the night before, Ian found the vipers, reporters, had caught wind of Irons' death already. They were at the gates, peering in. Some of the more aggressive types were trying to find a way onto the grounds, so he released the dogs.

Taking a deep breath, he met with Sara once again in the kitchen and told her everything he knew about the others. He was surprised to find out that she already knew that one of the others after the Witchblade was the Vatican. She always found ways to impress him, always surpassing his and Irons' expectations. The briefings about the others took the entire morning and most of the afternoon. The one concerning the Magincourt family took the longest, as they had been the most powerful rival for years, and were most likely the ones behind Irons' death. It was a tactic he'd never expected, a flaw in his training and design.

Ian showed her where she could find the files that had been collected on each one, but as she was about to look over the files for herself, the cell phone she carried rang. Jake was at the gate. Sara ordered Ian to let the man inside. She must have seen the cheerful glint in his eye, because she amended her statement to say alive and unharmed as well. A pity. The dogs hadn't been fed yet.

Jake wasn't alone--he'd brought the whelp Gabriel with him. Ian let them inside, ignoring the questions thrown at him by reporters, who apparently had not only heard about Irons' death, but wanted confirmation about Detective Pezzini being his heir. They were already speculating about the nature of her relationship to Kenneth Irons. It took all his self restraint not to react when one of the reporters for one of the sleazier publications asked if the inheritance was payment for being Irons' whore. Ian noted the man's face, in case he had time for a visit later.

Leading the men to Sara, Ian used the welcome distraction to check in on Dr. Immo. The initial one chosen had a very serious flaw--it was too aggressive. The doctor had put it back to sleep and was awakening the next, one of the same design as himself. He had at least another day left. He cast a quick glance towards the hidden chamber in the library, then returned to Sara unseen, and listened.

"Listen, Pez. Rumors are flying all over the station about you. The news is out that you've inherited everything Irons' owned. People are curious. On top of that, Dante's called a meeting today of the group. You're off limits. Heck you are more than that."

"What do you mean?"

"If you call for backup, any member of the group nearby better be one of the first people on scene. If you're injured because of any traffic problems or misheard addresses by a member of the group there's going to be hell to pay. Someone's got Dante scared, Pez."

"What about me?" asked Gabriel.

"You're in the clear as well. As long as you don't go asking questions about the group, you're to be left alone. Nothing is to be done to upset Pezzini. So what the deal here?"

"The deal?"

"Ohh, just what's being said around. Irons' left you everything because you're his lover," said Gabriel. "Just like the CD said, isn't it?"

"For the last time, Gabriel, I have never been involved with that man," she replied in a harsh tone.

"Ok, ok, I was only teasing. Honest."

Ian stepped inside, glaring at the men. It was time for them to leave. Apparently Jake got the message first and stood. "Look Pez, I'll talk to you tomorrow. You probably have plenty of things to do. Dante's told me to tell you that you have a week off, so you have time to adjust. I think he expects you to retire now that you've...you know."

"I wouldn't give him the pleasure."

Jake nodded and said to Gabriel, "Let's get out of here, kid."

"Sure. See ya, Pez. Ya really had me worried this morning, you know. Glad you're okay. If you need advice on how to spend your money, I know this guy who can get interesting things and his prices aren't that bad. Ouch! Jake, that's attached," cried Gabriel as Jake was pulled him out of the room.

"I should get going also. I gotta go home, the place must be a wreck. Who knows what Dante did to it," said Sara.

"I'll get my things."

"Wait, who invited you?"

"I'm your bodyguard now, Sara, I go where you do. I'm your second shadow."

"My place isn't big enough for the both of us."

"Then it's a good thing you inherited this mansion."

"Nottingham, I refuse to let HIM take over my life. I'm going and that's final."

Ian grabbed her quickly and slammed her against the wall. "You don't understand. You've got enemies now and they know exactly who you are. This place has been designed for its security. Your little hole in the wall will be no match for them, you know that. At least this place, with its flawed security, offers some protection." His voice trailed off into a barely heard whisper. "I've failed him. I will not fail you."

"All right, Nottingham. You've made your point. We'll stay here until other arrangements have been made. Let's get this straight right now, though. If you ever do that again, I'm going to make you regret the day you were born." She walked out of the room and towards the garage.

His whispered reply of "I already do," never reached her ears.

  


***

  


By Sara's choice, they took one of the less flashy cars instead of a limousine, and went to her apartment. That didn't stop the group of reporters at the gate from following them, or the throng who were waiting outside her apartment building. Sara and Ian had to push their way inside the building, ignoring the annoying and persistent questions shouted at them.

The place was a wreck, just as Sara had thought it would be. As she searched through the mess for the things she wanted to take with her, Ian took the time to pick up some of the items strewn about the studio and put them back where they belonged, hoping it would please her. The soft smile and quiet "Thanks," he'd gotten told him he had judged correctly.

The lights on the answering machine read 99 messages. Making sure he was seen, Ian took the tape out of the device. "I'll have someone listen to this and write down any personal messages." A raised eyebrow was all the response he needed as he reassured her, "You'll get the tape back as well. You can always check it if you think they've left something out."

"Just make sure it doesn't disappear, Nottingham." She looked at the things she'd gathered and quickly dumped them into a duffle bag. "I'm done here, I guess."

"I'll send someone over to clean the place up and to keep an eye on it so none of the more ambitious reporters decide to take a look around."

"Let's stop by the station before we go back. There's some paperwork I need to finish."

After once again pushing their way through the crowd of inquisitive reporters, they managed to get into the car and led a strange procession through the streets of Manhattan. The vultures that followed, however, were not allowed into the restricted areas of the police station.

The bullpen grew quiet when they entered, but even here amongst Sara's coworkers, most of whom respected her for her skills, the questioning looks and rumors were rampant. He couldn't go around slamming the heads of the rumor-mongers into walls. Sara wouldn't allow it. He sighed. She wasn't very much fun, but it wouldn't be his concern much longer. Besides, he wasn't allowed to squelch the rumors with the story that had been prepared. Mr. Drake wasn't yet finished tying up the loose ends on it yet.

Sara gathered the files she wanted to take with her from her office as Ian lurked outside her office. Captain Dante was in; he'd seen the man peeking out through his blinds, trying to spot Sara. It seemed that the Captain was going to behave and keep his distance. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said about McCartey, who nervously passed him to speak with Sara. It felt good that he made the man nervous.

"Pez, what are ya doing here?"

"Just picking up some files, rookie. I don't want any of these creeps getting off just because I didn't get something to the D.A. on time."

"Ahh, yeah. I should have thought of that. Listen Pez, umm, you are planning on coming back, right?"

"Yeah, Jake, I am. Don't worry about it."

"Good. Just keep in touch until you get back, okay?"

"I will. I'll call you to pick this stuff up once I'm done with it."

"Okay."

Returning to the mansion, Ian and Sara spent the rest of the day discussing the Witchblade. Irons had only given him orders to tell her about the others, but knowledge is power; Ian told her nearly everything he knew. The only topics he didn't discuss with her were the ones he didn't know how to explain--the secret room by the library and himself. It hurt a little that she didn't ask about the latter, but perhaps she thought she had plenty of time to do so.

Ian left her in the guest room to sleep before heading off to check on some things. He recorded a tape to brief his replacement on the current situation; genetic memory wasn't perfect and the less confusion the better. Leaving instructions for Dr. Immo to give the tape to his successor, Ian left the lab, went to his room and grabbed his katana. It had been a gift from Irons when he turned twenty-one, for being the only successful product of the elite military team known as the Black Dragons. It was perfect for his purposes. 

The next stop was his study. It took him two hours to compose a letter to Sara, explaining to her why this was for the best. All he could do was hope it made sense to her, hope she could understand. When the letter was finished, Ian took it to the library and placed it visibly upon Irons' desk. He hit the switch to open the hidden room, and went to say goodbye to his mother.

  


***

  


Sara hadn't been sleeping long when the Witchblade woke her up. It repeatedly showed her visions of the mansion's library and wouldn't stop until she climbed out of bed to go there and investigate. After a few wrong turns, she finally got her bearings and found her way to the place and crept inside cautiously. Her face grew red with shame as she realized that she and a dozen of New York's finest had missed an entire room hidden right by the library.

As she stepped closer to get a better view, she realized that it wasn't as much a room as a shrine, filled with pictures other objects. In the center of the chilled room lying on a fainting couch was the body of Elizabeth Bronte, the former true wielder, her grandmother. Kneeling before her was Ian Nottingham, talking to himself. She crept closer to hear what he was saying.

"Some might say I'm taking a coward's way out. Is it cowardly to know your limits? Only a brave man acknowledges his own failures without pressure and I have acknowledged mine." He paused for a while, seemingly waiting for a response. "I failed him," he paused, and his head hung with a grief that could also be heard in his voice. "If I remain, I will only fail her as well. Once she finds out the truth about me, she will not want me around. For her sake, this is the only way. She needs a better protector then I. Like the Lady Sara said, "I'm just a psycho Galahad...she needs...she deserves the real one. This is the only way I can make amends, make up for my failure."

For the first time, Sara noticed the katana on the floor by his side, as Ian reached down and picked it up by the hilt. "Traditionally, I should be using a shorter blade for this act, and this weapon would be used to remove the head from my body to ensure there is no dishonor. But I have no one who could act as a second to me, so I must make do with what I have. Poetic justice, do you suppose?" He gripped the weapon in both hands, placing the tip of it so it would miss the rib and cut through his heart. 

Realizing what he was about to do, Sara leapt into action. The bracelet upon her wrist morphed into its gauntlet form as time slowed down and she ran across the room, punching Ian in the face before he could pull the blade into his chest. He fell on the floor, and the katana clattered to the ground beside him. Picking it up, Sara tossed it into the library, shouting, "What the hell do you think you're doing, Nottingham?"

There were tears flowing down his face as he looked at her with sad hazel eyes. The change was staggering from the cold-blooded killer she was used to seeing. "Why...why are you interfering?"

"Because you were trying to kill yourself! What the hell were you thinking?" She had to think. Of course he wasn't thinking straight; she'd need to use another tactic to get through to him, some way of making sure he wouldn't try this again the moment she turned her back. "How were you planning to protect me if you were dead?"

"I've made arrangements. You won't even know I was gone."

"Finding your body lying here in the morning and someone else taking your place as my shadow would have been pretty obvious."

"You wouldn't have noticed. I'm replaceable and flawed," Ian said sadly. "You shouldn't have stopped me."

"I'm not blind, Ian. I see more then the normal person, remember?" She tapped the red jewel in the bracelet with her left index finger.

"Remember the story of the Huntsman, Sara. You wouldn't really have known."

The story of the Huntsman, the Sullivan case. Three men with different mothers who were exact clones of each other and shared their memories between them. Their father was in prison now. He'd mentioned that Irons had funded his research. The bastard, what the hell had he done?

"You're telling me there are more of you out in the world?"

"No, not in the world. Carefully kept sleeping, awoken for training and evaluation only. There is only one of us 'out in the world' at a time. I'm not the first, but so far I'm the one who's...." he pondered the words for a moment, "lived the longest. I already ordered Dr. Immo to prepare my replacement. I was never going to leave you unprotected. I was doing this so I wouldn't fail you... like I failed him."

"You weren't even here."

"I should have been!" He sat up, arms resting upon his knees, eyes focused on her socked feet.

"Why weren't you, then?" she asked, the realization dawning on her. 

"I was with you... he told me to protect you." 

"So you have the ability to be in two places at once, then?"

"No."

"Then there was nothing you could have done."

"I should have known what Magincourt was up to. I should have been here, where I was needed! My primary duty was to protect him." 

"He praised your loyalty, you know. He said you were the only success out of the Black Dragon program. Loyal servants don't disobey orders, Ian. You didn't fail him. You both just misjudged the situation. I don't think it was anyone's fault but Magincourt's." 

Ian stopped looking at her, gave her no response. He just looked at the floor and continued crying silently. Sara crouched down on the floor beside him, lifting his chin with her hand to make him face her. "I want your word, Ian, that you won't try this again. You're not a failure. You're just not perfect. No one is. Not me, not anybody."

He tried to pull away, but she wouldn't let him. His shoulders sagged and he finally nodded in agreement. "I give you my word of honor."

"Come on, then," she said, holding her arm out to help him off the floor. "You look like you could use some sleep. We can talk more in the morning." Sara didn't let go of his hand--she didn't want to give him the opportunity to run. She led him back to the guest room and sat in the comfortable chair. "Go on, you take the bed."

"But--"

"No arguments, Nottingham. Go to sleep."

He climbed into bed and curled up in the fetal position while Sara watched. Eventually he seemed to fall asleep, though Sara didn't know if he was faking or not. Watching him, Sara realized what Ian was: a child, a deadly child trapped in the body of a man. One who had been taught that he must be perfect, and that anything less was unacceptable. 

For a while, Sara considered asking Danny to bring Irons back with him, the next time he appeared. If the good Father could bleed after his death when he visited her, she could probably beat the crap out of Irons and make him feel it. The Witchblade wanted Nottingham alive, and that made her curious. What was it planning? What was it going to allow next?

  


***

  


She was dreaming, one of those dreams where you know you're dreaming, but still have no control over the dream. She was still in the guest room, and Ian was sleeping on the bed. Something compelled her to go over to him, to get closer, and she couldn't disobey. As she sat on the edge of the bed, the dream Nottingham stirred slightly, but remained sleeping. She knew it was wrong. She shouldn't be climbing into the bed with him. It was dangerous, but she couldn't help it.

The eye of the bracelet flashed red as a tendril shot out, quickly moving across her body and towards Ian. Oh god, this was just a dream... wasn't it? The tendril encircled his right wrist, around the thin band of flesh visible where his glove ended and his long black shirt began. Then the pointed tip arched back, and struck forward like a snake, entering Ian's skin. His eyes flew open he stared at her with a look of shock as the world faded to black around Sara. Then she found herself standing in the dream world where she had been only weeks before.

She was standing in a circle and every wielder in her line before her was part of it, except for Elizabeth Bronte. She was in the center, stroking Nottingham's back in a soothing manner. Sara tried to step forward but couldn't; apparently, she wasn't allowed to join them.

"Mo...mother?" he questioned quietly.

Elizabeth nodded as Sara's jaw fell. What? How? Ian wasn't old enough to be Elizabeth's child.

"Yes. Do you know why you are here, my son?"

"The Witchblade..." he said, shaking his head.

"It brought you here. It is angry with you. You are the first male of the line it has ever brought to this place. You are the only male of the line that is a part of it, so it could."

"What do you mean?" asked Ian, voicing the very same question Sara wanted to ask.

"Males of the line who protect the wielder are usually born of siblings of the wielder, or if by a wielder before the Periculum, never after. You are unique, as much a part of it as you are of me."

"Why? Why is it angry?"

"You are the Protector, companion to the wielder. You tried to give up your duties. You believed yourself replaceable, when you are, in fact, unique."

"She has a protector, I saw him. And I am replaceable. Irons made dozens of us. I am not unique. You are mistaken."

"You are the one who is mistaken. He is not her protector, but her guide. Just because Karen Bronte is my granddaughter doesn't mean she could ever wield the Witchblade. Just because those others are your brothers, doesn't mean they could ever fulfill your role as Protector. Genetics is just part of why certain people are chosen. It is not all."

"But I failed." The words sounded hollow, as if he were starting not to believe them.

"You didn't fail. It was well past his time. His life was extended to ensure that Sara Pezzini became the next wielder, to ensure that she inherited her legacy. It was a gift, one he tried to abuse. He wanted to use her in life, to create the gift he took from my body after my death. He was already dead before the fight was over, Ian. There was no way for you to save him. You must accept this and move on, or you will fail her. It will be a self-fulfilling prophecy."

He nodded, and Sara hoped Elizabeth's words had gotten through to Ian. If they didn't, there was nothing else that could. It wasn't like she could have him see a shrink. Any one of them would be morally obligated to turn Ian in as a danger to society. Either that, or they'd lock him up. Damn Irons. Confusion tolerance. The words that Danny spoke rung true. This was confusing as hell, but she needed to get through it. If she didn't, there was no way Ian would, not without her support. She and Ian were going to have a very long talk in the morning.

"It's time for you to return where you belong," said Elizabeth. "Do not make us bring you here again."

"Yes, mother," he replied. He reached over to her with his hand and caressed her cheek as he faded away and disappeared.

Elizabeth walked over and stood before Sara. "Take care of him. You need him as much as he needs you. You're two halves of the same coin."

Sara was speechless, and couldn't think of a reply as the place faded from view and she fell into a deep sleep. The Witchblade tendril pulled itself out of Ian's wrist and slithered back into the bracelet proper. The only two signs that the experience hadn't been a dream were that Sara was in the bed, and there was a burn mark on Ian's right wrist, where the tendril had once been.

  


  



End file.
